


Unforseen Side-Effects

by sparxwrites



Series: can i offer you a nice egg in these trying times [1]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Agender Character, Masturbation, Oviposition, Tentacles, genetic manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 09:05:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4660734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lying had assumed, naively, that their first egg would also be the last. Their current state was evidence to the contrary, though whatever was inside them now was definitely nothing like the egg upstairs. There was more than one of them, for a start – at least three or four, judging by the uneven outlines pressed into the stretched-tight skin of their stomach and the ungodly movement  inside of them whenever they shifted so much as an inch. </p><p>(In which Lying lays several eggs, and doesn't hate it quite as much as they were expecting.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unforseen Side-Effects

**Author's Note:**

> " **anonymous asked:** yes hello hi I am 10000% here for lying and oviposition. hhhhhhhh pls sir may we have some more??"
> 
> you can have anything you’d like if you ask that nicely, anon :3c draft title for this was "can i offer u a nice egg in these trying times", if anyone is interested. usual apologies to everyone and their grandma and their cat for being awful. thanks to ceranovis for betaing!

Lying had assumed, naively, that their first egg would also be the last. It was upstairs now, a huge grey-black thing the size of their head, swaddled carefully in blankets and tucked near the furnace to keep it warm as whatever was inside it slowly grew and prepared for hatching. They had assumed that was the end of it, though, a solitary genetic misfire that would never happen again after they finally wound down their genetic experimentation.

Their current state was evidence to the contrary, though whatever was inside them now was definitely nothing like the egg upstairs. There was more than one of them, for a start – at least three or four, judging by the uneven outlines pressed into the stretched-tight skin of their stomach and the ungodly _movement_ inside of them whenever they shifted so much as an inch. 

These eggs were smaller, too, and Lying silently thanked whatever gods were listening for it. They didn't think they'd have been able to handle four eggs the size of the previous one, weren't sure they could even  _lay_ another egg that size. They still weren't quite sure how they'd managed the first one, in all honesty, and the idea of experimenting to find out was distinctly unappealing.

Hands fisting white-knuckled in the sheets, they arched their back, sucking in a sharp breath as another contraction rippled through them and made their toes curl. It hadn't been like this last time – hadn't been _anything_ like this, no bulging stomach, no steady, unbearable clenching, no strange sensation of something _shifting_ in the area where their stomach should be.

When the first egg dropped, they cried out, unable to help themself. Panting softly, they bore down on it as best they could, shuddering at the feeling of the rest of the eggs moving inside of them too. 

For a long moment, with the broad, blunt curve of it pressed against their cloaca, stretching them almost obscenely wide, they thought it wouldn't fit – ridiculous, given how much bigger the previous egg had been, but a legitimate concern nonetheless. Gasping, they pushed a hand between their legs, groping down past the soft nubs of their tentacles to find the point where they were clenched around the egg, smooth skin giving way to the faintly damp curve of the shell.

“Come on,” they murmured breathlessly, swallowing hard and staring up at the dark ceiling. “Come on, _please_ -” Hopelessly, they tried to slip a finger in alongside it to stretch themself open wide enough, but there was no _room_. Tossing their head back, they whined, pushing harder until they felt like they might choke from the tension of it all, like they might split apart from the width and pressure.

When their body finally relented, it was unexpected, abrupt. They were stretched around the widest part of the egg and then, suddenly, they weren't, the tapered end of it sliding out of them with a rush of thick, slippery fluid that soaked into the mattress around the egg and cooled unpleasantly on their skin, wet and slick and cold.

The relief that accompanied it – the sudden ease in tension, the sudden emptiness, the sensation of every muscle in their entire body finally relaxing – was unexpected, and almost orgasmic. They didn't quite manage to hold back a groan, the noise tapering off into a shaky, breathless exhale. “ _Gods_ ,” they muttered, licking their lips and wiping at the fine sheen of sweat that had beaded across their forehead. “How many more of these to go?”

A moment later, the question was driven out of their mind by the start of the second set of contractions.

The second egg came easier than the first, helped along by the newly-spread lubrication and the way the first egg had stretched them open a little. It still wasn't easy, but it was – to Lying's faint horror and shame – almost _good_ , the taut curve of their stomach, the weight of the egg settling heavily inside them, the brutal stretch as they pushed it out inch by breathless inch.

Their cry was louder, this time, when it finally slipped free, and undeniably a sound of pleasure. Shame and arousal battled in the pit of their stomach, and arousal won, a spark of heat they couldn't bear to deny. Dropping a hand between their legs to rub at their already-elongating nubs, they arched their back, clenching around the egg instinctively even as it dropped to the mattress next to the first with another burst of slick.

Reaching down, they circled fingers around their cloaca, digging pointed teeth into their soft lower lip at how wet they were, how _sensitive_. Their fingers came away coated in their own fluids, slippery when they rubbed their fingertips together in faint fascination at the thick, clear lubrication. Raising the hand to slide easily over their emerging tentacles, they let their other one brush over the distended bulge of their stomach before stroking upwards to tug at the soft peaks of their nipples.

They barely noticed the third egg, too focused on the slide of their – now significantly elongated – tentacles through their fingers, the delicious friction of it. Rubbing the heel of their palm against the point where bruise-black flesh met pinkish skin, they lost themself in pleasure of it, mindless and hungry. The easy, routine movements only stoked the heat in the pit of their stomach, fanning it into flames. 

The blunt push of the egg against their cloaca was a shock, and left them moaning quietly as they were split open again slowly, inexorably. The stretch of it, combined with the steady friction of skin against tentacles – from both their hand, and the points where the coiling appendages had wrapped around their thighs and smeared oily marks in their wake – was enough to leave them open-mouthed, gasping through bitten-pink lips.

Their movements became faster, more frantic, as they pushed the egg out with an obscene _pop_ that left slick dripping down the curve of their ass. The faint chill of it drying in the cool air barely registered against the fever-heat of their skin, warm from exertion and arousal. Instead, the steady drip of it out of their hole, across their cloaca, was just yet another delicious sensation that sent the fire in their gut coiling ever higher.

By the time the fourth egg slipped free, considerably more easily than the first, Lying was a mess. Blonde, sweat-soaked hair had escaped their ponytail to fan out across the pillow, sheets had been kicked off to puddle on the floor, and the mattresss between their legs was soaked through with the thick, slippery liquid that had escaped them along with the eggs. Their tentacles were a wild, grasping mass of black, dragging across their skin and grabbing at anything in reach in search of the friction they so desperately craved.

As the widest part stretched them open, Lying groaned, bearing down until it finally slid out with a filthy, wet noise and a rush of fluid to settle with the others on the bed.

They gasped for breath in the aftermath, cloaca red and puffy and suddenly shockingly empty as it clenched around nothing. Reaching down, they slid two fingers in, adding a third when the width of the wasn't enough, groaning frustration at how small it felt in comparison to the heavy stretch of the eggs. Pinching roughly at their own nipples, they pressed the fingers deeper, before sliding them out with a frustrated snarl when it just wasn't  _enough_ .

In desperation, they let their other hand tangling more firmly at the base of their tentacles and clenching tight around the slippery length of them. The pads of their fingers rubbed at the point that tentacle met skin in a desperate search for friction, for  _more_ , for the release they just couldn't seem to find. “Come on, come  _on_ ,” they hissed, panting, heels skidding against the mattress as they tried to brace themself against it, entire body trembling with the urgency of their arousal.

The fifth and final egg, little more than a faint bulge in their stomach, was all they needed to push them over the edge. 

Slick and open as they were, it took little more than a few clenches from exhausted, wrung-out muscles to push it down until it was pressed against their cloaca, a blunt pressure that made them groan. They clenched around it, trying desperately to keep it in, to hold onto the delicious sensation for just another minute – but they no longer had the strength in them to resist the inexorable weight of it, warm and heavy against their hole as it slowly spread them open.

It slipped out of them easily, stretching them wide despite their hungry clenching, cloaca obscenely pink and shiny against the egg's dark surface. Tightening around the width of it as it slid out, all pressure and stretch and unbearable friction, Lying buried both hands in the writhing coils of their tentacles and came with a cry they were unable to smother.

The noise echoed in the empty room, a shocked, sharp admission of pleasure that they couldn't swallow down as the egg dropped to settle with its siblings and left them arching and trembling and dripping slick across their thighs and down the curve of their ass. Their tentacles curled around their wrists and wound up to their elbows, desperate for something to cling to in the wake of the hot pleasure alight in the pit of their's stomach, the clenching of their cloaca even as it gaped in the wake of the eggs.

For a long minute, it was all they could do to lie there, sprawled still and boneless against the damp sheets and sopping mattress, watching the sparks behind their eyelids and luxuriating in the warmth and pleasure still rolling through them like a haze.

When they finally scraped together the energy to move, still panting from the exertion, they spread their legs a little further and propped themself up on their elbows to eye the clutch of greyish eggs settled between their thighs on the mattress. The eggs were lifeless duds, all of them, without any genetic material to fertilise them like their had been with the first – it had been far too long since they'd conducted any kind of genetic experiments for there to be any chance of that.

Evidently, though, despite being fertilised by chance, the first egg had not been some kind of one-off as a result of the experiments. Lying couldn't help but sigh at the thought of having to re-activate the now dormant genetic recombination machines, retired to gather dust after they'd found what they had hoped to be the perfect genetic makeup. The realisation that they would have to start all over again, possibly from scratch, to prevent regular ovulation and egg-laying, was exhausting.

Allowing themself to sink back against the mattress and pillows once more, they let an idle hand smooth over the now-flat plane of their stomach, dropping down past their steadily retracting tentacles to touch the swollen, gaping hole of their cloaca. The movement of their fingertips over it sent a spark of pleasure meandering up their spine, despite their oversensitivity, and they shuddered, licking their lips in absent consideration.

Perhaps, they thought, it wouldn't be so bad to have just _one_ more clutch...

 


End file.
